


Joke's on You, Batman

by keykiyoshi7443



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, I found a prompt?, Jason dies again, Police men, Sadness, The Joker being a Dick, scary batboys, this is longer than I thought it would be, violent Dick, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keykiyoshi7443/pseuds/keykiyoshi7443
Summary: Well, Jason’s dying again… and he gets killed in the same way that he did the first time. Good for him!   Otp prompt: character A is dying and they call person B in their last moments and hold a conversation without them knowing, managing to slip in an 'I love you' I swear this is actually angsty guys. This is very sad despite how horrible this summary is at demonstrating it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't supposed to be this long? I tried for it to be angsty cuz my next fic will be pure crack, but wow. This wasn't meant to happen I just found a sad otp prompt and made it about my favourite Robin. Oops.

How did he keep getting himself into these kinds of situations? He was yet again trapped in some warehouse in the middle of nowhere with the Joker and a crowbar. The Joker had just finished beating the crap out of him yet again. The Joker was laughing and saying something about how this time he should stay dead and to stop ruining his jokes.

He really couldn't care less about what the Joker was blathering on about this time. It was always the same with him. Jason wouldn't be surprised if as he was leaving he said something about doing homework and telling the Bat that he said 'hello'.

Except, this time no one even knew that the Joker had him, let alone that they should be looking for him. He wasn't exactly on anyone's 'to save' list. As far as the current Bat family knew, he wasn't even in Gotham. For all he knew that could be true!

The door was locked from the outside with a padlock just like last time. He'd checked and there was no way to pick the lock. So he slumped against the door and reached for his leather jacket that the Joker had carelessly tossed over. Maybe he could find a way to stabilize himself and a way to communicate. Maybe he'd be able to call someone and they could come get him before he bled out.

The breath rattled in his chest as he began to rifle through his coat pockets. He didn't have any medical equipment but he did have the communicator that he kept the bat frequency on. Thank god. He turned it on before pausing, who would he even call? It wasn't like many people would just drop everything to come rescue him.

He decided he'd call Barbara because she'd be able to track his location and inform someone else to come get him. At the end of the day he was still family... right? That decision was quickly changed as his eyes drifted around the room and came to rest on the one thing that he remembered from that night 6 years before.

It was a group of bombs rigged to blow with a count down on a big digital clock. In the perfect view from the door. This time he had even less time on the clock than before.

_2:00_

He couldn't call Barbara. It was likely that she wasn't even awake right now. Let alone able to track him down and send someone to help him in the two minutes he had left. Honestly, he didn't really want to say his last words to Barbara.

But he didn't want to be alone when the bomb blew up either. And since no one could save him and he didn't want anyone else to die, having someone on the phone technically counted. But here was still the problem of who to call. He stared at his contacts and picked one on a whim. He waited impatiently for Dick to pick up the phone as the ring tone played in his ear.

"Hey Dickiebird," he said as soon as he heard the other pick up, trying to hide the pain in his voice. The adrenaline and shock were beginning to wear off leaving him to feel the full force of his injuries. He groaned quietly as he shifted into a better position.

 _"Jason? Why are you calling? No, wait. I don't want to know, don't call me again."_ Dick growled. He sounded sleepy, Jason must have woken him up. He probably just finished patrol with the demon brat if Jason was telling the time correctly.

"No, please. Don't hang up." he asked desperately. Internally wincing at how he sounded. Yeah, that totally wouldn't set off the warning bells in Dick's head. Luckily Dick didn't seem to pick anything up.

 _"What do you want Jason?"_ he asked in exasperation. Jason let out a breath he was holding. The pain was getting worse and the cold was spreading. He glanced over at the timer on the bomb, praying he had enough time to say whatever he needed to say.

"What I can't just be making a social call?" He asked breathlessly. This time Dick seemed to notice that there was something wrong, although he didn't seem to know what quite yet.

 _"You can, but you typically don't Jason. So why are you calling, my patience is wearing thin."_ He heard Dick growl from the other end, but it was becoming more and more difficult to think properly. The timer on the bomb read _1:30_. He didn't have much time.

"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. Do you mind passing that on to everyone? Tell Alfie that I really appreciate all that he did for me during my time in the manor tell Tim I'm sorry I tried to kill him." He let out a halfhearted laugh, "tell the demon brat that it's his job to watch over the family. He can have my weapon collection. He knows where it is."

"Jason? Why are you telling me these things?" Dick asked worriedly, all traces of sleep in his voice gone. He wanted to answer, but he thinks that one of his ribs had pierced a lung. His breath rattled in his chest with every breath he took. He was so cold. It was just like last time, he thought dimly.

Apparently his silence wasn't a good thing as Dick's voice got louder. _"Jason? Why are you breathing like that?"_ He asked anxiously. Jason immediately tried to quieten his breathing at that, but that created its own problem. In the silence created by the muted sounds of his breathing, it was pretty easy to hear the increasingly louder beeps of the timer as the seconds counted down.

 _"Is that what I think it is?"_ He asked nervously. _"Jason is that a bomb? You need to get out of there!"_ he said almost hysterically. Jason laughed weakly.

"No can do Big Bird," he breathed. "Locked in from the outside. No time. Too injured." He continued weakly. It was getting really hard to keep his eyes open at this point. He shot a half lidded look at the timer. _0:45_. "'M cold, Dick" he slurred as he closed his eyes.

 _"Hey... stay with me Jay! We'll get to you. We'll save you. I'm on my way."_ he said hurriedly. Jason was able to hear some shuffling and some bumping things as Dick clearly tried to get up and in uniform in time.

"Don't bother. Only have 'bout 30 seconds left" he rasped. Checking the clock to see that be actually had only 25 seconds left. Well, Dick didn't need to know that. "Jus' don' hang up" he asked quietly, leaning his head back against the door in defeat.

 _"Okay Little Wing. I'm right here,"_ then Dick began to babble about everything and nothing at the same time. Jason let Dick's voice wash over him as his senses began to dull. The beeps of the clock ever present and loud, droning on and on in his skull. He opened his eyes and watched the clock. 

 

_0:04_

_0:03_

_0:02_

_0:01_

 

_Finally_

 

* * *

 

Dick babbled, having no idea what to say or do. What was he supposed to do in his situation? Jason - his estranged murderer of a brother - called him in the middle of the night. How was he supposed to respond to that?

But then he'd heard the beeping and he knew. He had to get to Jason. He couldn't fail like Bruce did. He had to save Jason from dying _again_. He got a second chance, he deserved a better life. Not to die the same way as before. But according to Jason he only had 30 seconds left. _What was he supposed to do?_

So he did the one thing he knew he could do. He talked. And then, there was a pause, a moment of silence. Then, a loud boom and the phone began to beep, signaling the fact that it was no longer connected. All he could do was stare at the phone is his hand.

The dial tone rang loudly in his ear even though he was holding it a good arms distance as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Jason was _dead_. _Again_.

Unlike last time, he was the one that knew before Bruce. Bruce was the one away on an off world mission and Dick was the one who was going to have to deal with the fallout. Oh god. His little brother was _dead_. He let out a scream of anguish and collapsed onto the floor of his room.

He heard a loud thumping as Damian burst into the room. "Grayson!" He yelled, worry creeping at the edge of his stern tone. "What's wrong?" He demanded. Dick could only let out a loud sob as he curled around the phone he was clutching in his hand. Damian slowly approached him and sat beside him, just staring at him in silence as he wailed.

Then Tim cam bursting into the room. "The Joker was just seen fleeing from a building that blew up!" He said frantically. Dick stared up at the third Robin, tears streaming down his face for a moment, before finishing putting on his suit and demanding that Tim take him to the building.

"What about the Joker?" He asked confused. Dick's features twisted in rage as he stalked towards the Batcave.

"To hell with the Joker. This is more important." He growled. Tim and Damian followed silently behind, deciding it wasn't a good idea to question Dick's logic.

When they arrived at the remains of the warehouse Dick tore through the rubble frantically searching for what they didn't know. They stood at the edge of the rubble and Damian gingerly picked up a rusty crowbar, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

There was blood on the edge of the crowbar and Damian quickly dropped the offensive object as if it was on fire. Then out of the blue Dick released an anguished cry. Tim and Damian raced forwards towards where Dick was frantically trying to move some wooden planks. There on the ground was a hand holding a cell phone loosely.

Tim and Damian rushed forward to help, thinking there might have been a survivor. Not even entertaining any other thought. Because that's the only reason that Dick would be so determined to uncover this person. They had to be alive... right?

A couple minutes later, he police had arrived to, although they were keeping their distance from the 3 vigilantes. They were searching the rest of the rubble. Finally, the three brothers had managed to uncover the body that was still attached to the hand holding the cell phone. Tim gasped quietly as he realized just who's corpse they'd found.

It was none other than their estranged brother; the Red Hood, the black sheep of the bat family. The one who had died and came back. The majority of his limbs were twisted at awkward angles and Tim honestly couldn't tell if it was caused by the rubble or if it had been like that before.

His leather jacket lay beside him lightly burned and singed in places, but the rest of his uniform was completely destroyed. The iconic Red Helmet lay in pieces and his pants were tattered and soaked in blood. On the grey armour he was wearing there were many dents and broken spots revealing bone and bloody skin, but there were still clearly written words in blood. 

 

_Ha ha ha ha ha_

_Joke's on you Batman_

 

There was a pipe embedded in his thigh, the wound still leaking blood despite the fact that Jason clearly wasn't breathing. Jason's hair was matted with blood and his white streak was completely stained. On his cheek was a freshly branded letter 'J'.

The only thing that remained untouched in both the explosion and the Joker's wrath was his domino mask. The red material still protected Jason's identity and not even the edges were damaged. It was intentionally left unharmed.

Tim placed a hand over his mouth as he struggled not to vomit. Seeing murder victims were one thing. They were complete strangers. This was his brother, the Robin that he'd always looked up to. The fact that he tried to kill him never even crossed his mind in this moment. All that he could see was a boy - because really, where had Jason's childhood been - who'd died far too young. _Again_.

Damian looked on at the body in front of him emotionlessly. Unlike Dick and Tim, he hadn't had much of an emotional attachment to the wayward Robin. Jason had merely been another one of his father's villains. What he did pity was the fact that Todd's death had been the same as last time. He knew the older man would have called it poetic, like a scene from his beloved English literature. That thought made him feel emotions that wouldn't be productive so he shut them out.

He couldn't afford to be emotional like Grayson and Drake. Tch.

Dick stared silently at his little brother that despite his efforts, he never really got to know. He never had a chance to ask what his favourite book was, or what type of music he liked. Heck, he didn't even know which one of Alfred's dishes was his favourite.

Then the tears were back and they streamed down his cheeks from under his mask. He let out another wail and fell to his knees beside Jason's body. He carefully extracted it from the rubble and hugged him close. It just wasn't fair. Why did the Joker always target him? Could he have actually stopped this from happening if they had killed the Joker that first time?

How many more deaths could they have prevented? Maybe Jason could have come back and been _family_ again if they did. Maybe Jason wouldn't have had to die again in the same way.

The police just gathered around the three vigilantes. "Oh god. He's just a kid!" One of the newer cops gasped. Another shushed him, "Robin's always been a kid. It's just the way things are."

The newer cop shook his head. "Not Robin. The Red Hood. The one that Nightwing is crying over." He said softly. That brought a lot of things into perspective for a lot of cops. They took another look at the four bodies and realized, yes they were all so young. Nightwing couldn't be more than 25 and Robin had to be about 10. That means Red Robin was about 16 or 17.

The Red Hood could be anywhere between 19 and 21. How messed up was Gotham that _kids_ were the ones fighting the psychos? That _kids_ were the ones paying with their _lives_. "Come on. Let's leave them alone. We'll handle the search for the Joker tonight." A cop said, loud enough for the others to hear, but not loud enough to disturb the grieving trio. Then they left, much quieter than how they came.

Dick brushed Jason’s hair out of his eyes as he carefully leaned him against his knee. “He called me you know,” he began softly, almost too soft for Tim and Damian to hear. It was like he was being careful not to wake Jason, as if he was sleeping. Not dead.

“He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. To you especially, Tim” he continued, not caring that they weren’t answering. “He said that you can have his weapons Damian. He said that you would know where to look” Dick continued, his voice gaining a somewhat hysterical edge to it. “He said to tell Alfred that he was grateful for everything he’d done while he was living in the manor. I… I don’t know what to do… how are we going to tell Bruce?”

He was hysterically crying, something Damian hadn’t thought was possible until now. Tim was still holding back his vomit at the sight of Jason’s injuries, so Damian was left to answer. “We should get Todd’s body back to the cave first. We should burn it… it’s what he would have wanted. He never did want to come back.” he said seriously. Dick looked up at him, wide eyed as he clutched Jason closer to his chest, as if he wasn’t willing to let him go.

“Let’s take him home, Grayson.” He said. Dick nodded and gingerly lifted Jason in his arms, seemingly marveling at how light he was. Tim bent down and carefully lifted up the burned leather jacket and brushed off some of the ash. Then they were off and running back to the manor.

 

* * *

 

They burned Jason’s body.

Jason was always saying how the dead should stay dead and how he shouldn’t have come back. They doubted that Jason would want to be resurrected again. Besides, Jason deserved the rest.

But that wasn’t the only thing they did to honour his death. Dick took Bruce’s idea and made a memorial. Unlike Bruce, he didn’t use an extra suit – he didn’t really know where Jason’s extra suits would be – instead, he used the suit that Jason had died in. He didn’t even bother to wash off the blood. It would serve as a reminder of what happened.

The only part of Jason’s suit that was undamaged was the domino mask. That and the extra red helmet that they found. Tim had borrowed one the week before, trying to help Jason with the explosives, so they did have one they could use for that. The hood rested at the suits feet, while the pristine domino mask remained in place. They’d all take turns staring at the memorials – the Robin costume and the Red Hood costume were next to each other – and contemplating both what they’d tell Bruce when he came back, and what they would do next.

“Why is the Joker still alive?” Dick asked one day while all three of them were sitting in front of the two cases. Tim and Damian didn’t know how to answer that. “I mean, if the Joker was dead, then he’d stop killing children! And he’ll stop taking my brothers from me.” Dick reasoned. Tim sent him a look of alarm.

“Dick! We can’t kill the Joker!” Tim said scandalized. Damian wanted to disagree, killing the Joker would be pretty easy if all three Wayne boys put their minds to it. And killing the Joker will most likely be a good thing. It will certainly save many many graveyards. Gotham was running out of space to bury all of the victims.

“Why not?” He demanded instead. “We all know Bruce will never do it… but does he really have to know? We’ll say that one of the police men shot him, or that one of his goons finally had enough. It doesn’t have to be our fault. We were simply too late to save him.” Dick explained. At Tim’s unsure look, he parroted Damian’s words back at them. “It’s what Jason would have wanted.” And just like that, Tim gave up the argument.

Damian looked up at his brothers and produced from beneath his cape, 3 of Jason’s guns. “Todd gave us free reign” he said simply. Both Tim and Dick took a gun and checked it over, checking how many bullets are in each magazine. They popped the magazines in simultaneously and turned to face the cases once more. “Come on. We’ve got a murderer to kill.” Dick said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the end.


End file.
